Sometimes writing is for telling a story. Other times, it is just for feeling the world.
It is dark. I am captured by the inspiration of circumstance. Do you know how I feel when the lights go out in the day in the rain, when the clouds hang low and the traffic slows with the loss of colored lights?
Cool. Mildly adventurous. Anticipatory.
Do you know how I feel in the power out of the night, when the black eats the light, passing cars are afraid, and there is only you and the match in your hand to stand against oblivion?
Swept up. Solitary. Swallowed.
I honestly think that God made other people just so that One would not feel so alone in the dark. Laughing in candlelight is as comfortable as the world is quiet when its electric blood is drained away. It is holy. No lightning. No sirens. Just the quiet black. moral: when swallowed, make like Pinocchio, and light a fire.
Can you feel it?